Much ado about OJ.

Oh, you sillies.

*I* am the butler.

At least at home. It's become a running joke. Ben and I take turns fetching juice late at night. We really adored having a butler when we stayed in New York but none of the guys here will go for it so we split the job in half.

Please.

My silver spoons are not in my mouth, they're all in a drawer, bent by Jacob, straightened by Ben. I may call myself a princess but most of that is simply wishful thinking.

The lot of you, on the other hand, well, let's just say thanks. You're learning. Instead of a hard time about sleeping in Lochlan's bed, you all wanted to know if I actually had a butler here at the new house.

Seriously, wow.

We're making progress.

Circumvention and the safekeepers.

Frail and dry
I could lose it all
But I cannot recall
It's all wrong
Don't cry
Clear away this hate
And we can start to make it alright
So fly away
And leave it behind
Return someday
With red in your eyes

I see you
Cause you won't get out of my way
I hear you
Cause you won't quit screaming my name
I feel you
Cause you won't stop touching my skin
I need you
They're coming to take you away

He left me pinned to his needs for hours last night, held fast against escape. Protests went unanswered. Struggle was met with force. I reached down and grabbed his hair, pulling it. My legs gave out. I kept reaching down until I could pull on his jaw and then he came up and kissed me and pushed me down again.

I was not allowed up until he was satisfied that I had writhed hard enough, until I was completely exhausted. Until I was desecrated completely.

Stick a fork in me, Benjamin, I am so done.

I'll stick something else in you, princess.

Pushed back down, this time on my face. I am not complaining.

Really considering Ben is as sick as I am I don't know where he finds the energy for everything. I thought I was on the fast boat to dreamland last night when he pulled me against his chest in the bathtub but then he abruptly pulled the stopper and let the water drain out. We were zonked and falling asleep against each other.

I was wrong and I'm now missing a few extra hours of sleep to prove it. I just wish I was operating at one hundred percent instead of twenty-five. For myself and for Ben's own pleasure.

The butler brought the best-tasting orange juice we have ever had. Over alternating sips I asked Ben what he said (or did) to Caleb.

Nothing for you to worry about.

He smiled and took a sip of the juice. And then he set the glass down on my bedside table and kissed my forehead and I was out. Dreamless, citrus sleep, oh how I love you.

However the sleep dissolves before I am ready for it to and another day begins with dead silence from the glass cage, and louder silence from Lochlan and Ben. Ben is away before the sun comes up, in true vampire fashion and I take my blanket and wander down to Lochlan's wing and climb into his feverish and empty bed to try and sleep for another hour even though he is gone as well. The house is so quiet and I drift away into a light slumber, this time filled with disturbing, violent dreams. I sit up suddenly, the blanket tangled all around me so tightly I feel trapped.

I think about calling Caleb. Just to see if he is alright. But I don't and I won't. Ben said not to worry about it and I'm going to trust him. I call Lochlan instead.

What did he do?

Bridget? What's wrong?

What did Ben do to Caleb?

Go to sleep, Bridget. It's five-thirty in the morning. Why don't you go down to my bed and snooze for a while. At least until sunrise.

Okay.

Promise?

I'm there already, Loch.

I'm happy to hear that. Now, sleep, princess.

Psychic relay.

He asked me to bring his car back and then requested that I come up to his condo for a moment so that he could have a word. I've been waiting for twenty minutes, picking at the hem on my skirt. My sleeves are too long and my fingertips are barely visible but that's fine because it's cold in here, not just because of Caleb's mood. He finally walks in and takes my arm, moving me to his office chair from the comfortable chair at my little wrought iron desk by the window because he wants to pace and yell and accuse and be dramatic but it's okay, I have left already.

Why do you write these things, Bridget?

It's what I have. I am trying to be strong but I have that thick-throated feeling when I'm just about to cry, it's inevitable and I'm embarrassed by it.

I gave you everything.

No, what you've done is pay to ease your guilt.

You need to stop.

I ignore him. In my head I'm running down the steps to Jacob. I'm running carefully, trying to concentrate so that I don't slip. Slowest race ever.

Caleb grabs a handful of my hair in his fist and yanks my head around so that I am staring right at him. My eyes swim into focus with fear in them and he smiles. Oh, I see. Pay attention.

Will you stop, Bridget?

He says it softly, kindly almost. Save for the fact that he is hurting me I would have been moved.

I can't shake my head so I match his tone, equally soft. The smallest voice I have.

No. We've had this conversation before. May I go now, please?

He continues to hold my head along with my attention while he slides the scissors off the desk with his other hand. They are good scissors. Sharpened twice a year. He brings them up close and I close my eyes.

I hear them open and close and I'm not dead. He lets go and I open my eyes.

And then I understand perfectly.

Handfuls of my hair are landing on the desk. On the floor. I no longer care if I'm careful or not, I'm running down the steps now, sliding along the banister, feet almost off the ground. Don't touch me. Don't touch me. Don't touch me.

But he keeps taking hold of huge handfuls and cutting and cutting until my hair is close around my face and then he throws the scissors and they bounce off the wall and clatter to the floor. He has tears streaming down his face as he looks at me and then walks out, slamming his office door. I reach up and touch my head. My hair, my crowning glory of blonde that was almost back to my waist is now chin-length. I look like I did when I was young, when I cut my hair briefly for a change. Cole was the change. I cut it for him. I never cut it again until after Jacob and even then that turned out to be a big mistake and I was back to my mermaid hair as fast as it would grow.

And now it's gone.

I shove away from the desk and the chair smashes to the floor as I run after him. I don't catch up with him until he is almost through the living room at the balcony doors. I land both fists against his back as I call him a coward for running away.

He turns around and I am looking in a mirror, matched tear for tear. Helpless, frustrated rage written all over our faces. He is in shock.

Suddenly I laugh. I didn't expect to but I seem to have all the power. Hold on to it, princess. I put my hands up and touch my hair. It's close to my head. I bet I look like I did as he remembers me best. Helpless and young.

They're going to kill you.

I'm already dead, Bridget.

WHY DOES EVERYBODY KEEP SAYING THAT??

Because we want to be the ones you love, and because it's the only thing Jake and Cole have in common.

My eyes flash to the sky beyond his shoulder and he turns and throws the bolt on the door, weirdly so, as if I was going to be able to get past him somehow and climb up over the railing and drop to the street below with the high end stores and strange faces.

You don't know me. Don't act like you can do things and not pay for them.

That's just it, Bridget, I can. I've been a monster forever and you let me get away with it. Long before the fallout with Lochlan, long before Cole became your favorite monster. You changed and it's all my fault. I do the work and they reap the benefits. I take the risks and they get the rewards. What the fuck is this? I live in fucking fear but I can't help myself. You won't help yourself. We're all sick. All of us.

You're delusional if you think you've ever gotten away with anything. Look around, Caleb! What do you have?!

I have you. I have Henry. I--My God. Look what I did to you.

You don't have us. You have nothing. Remember that when you feel the need to keep being the monster. Just remember what it got you. You ruined your perfect life and you took mine with you. So everything you have is an overcompensation for everything you wanted and drove away.

It's not over, princess.

It was over before it started. You saw to that quite nicely.

Why are you bringing up the past suddenly? I thought we were over that. You had crafted a lovely tale of absentia for your own brain to swallow, it seemed. Lying to yourself is always a nice comfort against the ugliness of truth isn't it?

I don't know, you tell me.

We belong together, Bridget.

Like hell we do. You can pretend all you want, Caleb but the truth remains and eventually I'll tell it. Just keep pushing me and see where we end up.

You've had some good times with me, Bridget.

Sure, only because the one thing you've ever taught me that I can talk about out loud is that I can use you for my own sick games too. I don't have to worry about destroying my boys, I'll just use you instead, and then you go away when I'm finished. Because you mean nothing.

I can see him crumbling now. It isn't calculated for maximum advantage, it isn't staged, it's real and I don't want to do this anymore.

I'm going. You can see Ben later and explain this shit and clean up your own mess.

He nodded. I have the control again. We hand it off like a baton. I nod and I'm out of there. I walk outside into the evening breeze to John in the Rolls and I wish for my scarf because my neck is freezing. John's eyebrows go up when he sees me and I ask him if he can stop at one of the salons nearby and he does and I come home with a perfectly cute tapered bob and a new scarf too.

I had planned to tell them it was just a whim but then I remembered that feeling of terror as Caleb picked up the scissors and so I will condemn him instead. But he's right. I hardly even mean it and at the end of the day after death, history, cash and love pay out their dividends a haircut is not that big of a fucking deal.

I am still, though. Sadly. The hopes I had when I was eighteen fade quickly now. Like the last rays of sunlight as we drive back up the coast. I am practicing my explanations in my head to soften it already and I'll never know why I protect him from them but I do.

Ripple.

I stole a sip from his beer as I watched him dive off the diving board. The sun was so bright already and it was only seven-thirty in the morning. I was sitting on the edge of the pool in my pale blue string bikini making circles in the water with my feet. It isn't all that warm yet and I have shrugged into his jean jacket. I'm not sure I like Arizona all that much. I read a book set here once. It was about death.

I stick my legs out straight and evaluate my knees. Carpet-burned from being forced to the floor in this two-dollar an hour motel, they sting from the chlorine. I pour beer over them and dump the rest in the pool. I throw the bottle in too. I don't care about anything this morning other than waiting until Caleb is asleep tonight so that I can take all of the money from his wallet and hitchhike to the airport and go home. If I can find my passport, that is. Flying without it and looking younger than my full eighteen years never seems to go over well.

He doesn't have this problem. He's twenty-six and finished law school early and now he's moving on to a new degree because his plan is to rule the world, or at least retire a self-made millionaire at fifty. No one has any doubts that he will succeed either, and that's what makes this trip so hard to swallow. That he blatantly asked Cole if I could be borrowed for a weekend and Cole said yes and will take whatever payout Caleb gives him for my use and we'll all pretend we just get along great and the minute I get home I will go back to pretending Caleb doesn't exist.

He swims to me and places the beer bottle on the edge of the pool. He frowns and reaches up to pull me into the water, jacket and all.

I was at the deep end and I don't want to swim so I wrap my arms around his shoulders. He smells like soap and chlorine and sun. I place my lips against his neck and rest my head. His arms go around me. He's a good swimmer. I could fall asleep here. I'm not afraid of him. It's been six years and I have grown accustomed to the change in brothers. Like the change of the seasons.

He puts his head down against my cheek and hums. I don't know what he's humming. I am tone deaf.

Fall is coming. That's what I think about instead of his song. Fall is coming and it will be cold soon and I will trade my bikinis and sundresses and boots for jeans and sweaters and I will always run up to you and unzip your jacket and throw myself into it and sometimes you can zip it up again over me and I'm trapped walking backwards with you but eventually you will let me go.

Eventually, he will let me go.

Probably later this year when he gets busy with his new job and his life as a lawyer. Kind of like growing up finally and then he'll leave us alone. I start college soon. I'll be busy. Cole is very busy working already. Yeah, I'll just bide my time. It's been six years. It won't be much longer.

Viral princess.

I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

Every singer, including mine, should be forced to cover Hallelujah the way Jeff Buckley covers Hallelujah.

His voice is like someone put Freddie Mercury and Nick Drake in a blender and cut it with a cup of heaven.

And I am back from the dead, I think. Yesterday I crashed hard after lunch but thanks to the fact that I seem to be indestructible I couldn't seem to stay down.

Burning up with a fever, I did two loads of laundry (Lying down in between, seriously) and then I cried for Ben to come home early a little, and then I made lunches for today, and then Ben started to yell from downtown to go to bed already and I couldn't because he wasn't home yet so Ruth made tuna sandwiches for dinner with veggies for herself and Henry and Ben walked through the door at seven and I was a mess.

A complete and utter mess, weak and fevered to a crisp. Martyred. Fine, you win, Bridget, you're so tough, now go the hell to bed.

He got me into bed and brought me my beloved orange juice and opened all the windows and I was out. I remember asking about the bugs on my legs and why they were in flames and I also was very fucking pissed off about not getting any dinner (I think he had Captain Crunch. Seriously.) but I couldn't eat anything anyway and eventually the burning went away a little and I woke up to a thunderstorm crashing and I very unsteadily went to the bathroom and then crashed back into the bed and eventually morning came and the fever was gone and the bugs were gone but I feel as fragile as a ghost today.

I wish Ben was home. He always knows exactly what to do and then I feel better.

* * * * * *

The doctor has been and gone. He thinks it's mononucleosis. Lovely. His recommendation? Sleep, Bridget. More than you have been. He also cautioned me not to sleep during the day at all because it would disrupt my sleep at night eventually. So I can thumb my nose at everyone who keeps telling me to take a nap when all it ever seems to do is make things worse.

So there.

Thumbthumbthumb.

*cough*

I will also work on the martyr part. Thankfully it's only an issue once or twice a year. A TANK, I tell you, I'm a tank.

Athenaeum.

The center of my house is where the front door is. There is a circle room with a vaulted ceiling and windows all the way around. From the circle with the big round table and the orchids you can hang a right, which takes you into the great room/kitchen area with the insanely huge fireplace and also eventually to the stairs that go up. That way is toward the water, and overlooks the ocean and the driveway is underneath if you are tall enough to look down toward the ground under the window. There is a counter around the kitchen windows so sadly I can't see the driveway, since it runs beside the house and then around and back up.

If you hang a left from the foyer you can either head downstairs to the lair of Daniel and Schuyler (I wouldn't recommend it, they like their privacy) or you can step through the big double doors into my library. The library faces the woods, and is on the front of the house so you look through the verandah and then beyond and it means the verandah is far removed from the action, so to speak and a bit quieter than spending time down on the patio in full view of the people in the kitchen or great room or being on the balcony upstairs which is visible for miles. (Jesus, the whole world knows when I'm out there. It seems to be my widow's walk.)

In any case, these words are about my library. Not about the extended modern sprawl of this gigantic house.

This library is done. Solid and finished in a way my rickety shelving against plaster and old drafty windows and rickety desk were not, in our old house. This room is temperature-sealed. New windows that open at knee level to provide a breeze but continue on to the ceiling to paint a picture of a rain forest that sometimes invites a deer or bear or hummingbird. The windows continue around two walls, so the other two are floor to ceiling shelves, finished in a California-colonial style which I can't quite wrap my brain around. Soft grey walls. Dark wood floors with the white plushie area rug on top for softness. Bright lamps for reading and two white leather chairs. The books are packed into those shelves and stacked on the floor for good measure. There is a tower on the table threatening to collapse and more behind the door so you can't open it all the way.

It is soundproof as well.

Which means even though Ben has a studio downstairs, many many times a week you'll see him strolling up from the depths of the house strumming his guitar and disappearing into the library to see 'how it sounds'. It always sounds good, Benjamin but this is the quiet room.

He laughs.

It's only quiet if I need to show a card to get in, bee.

That can be arranged.

This is not my pantry, though. It is too pretty. Too bright. Too full of words to quiet my head. Cans of soup and bags of pasta quiet my head. Counting Keebler elves. Staring at the Honor Shelf and the competition as I see invisible words crashing into one another in the air in front of me does nothing but spool me up.

I have tried. I made it a comfortable room. I love the rug. I love the chairs. I love the big pillows on the floor. (Thank you, IKEA, I love you most.) I love the lamps and the windows and the odd California-style lack of baseboards and trim too but what I really love is that the kids can be found draped all over the place reading too. That they are starting to pick and choose from the big book collection and venturing away slightly from English Roses and Diary of a Wimpy Kid. I hope they can do their homework in there on the floor or have long phone conversations stuffed into a chair without disruption and I hope that when the rain comes in the winter that I'll be able to hear it on the windows if I sit very still.

Human curiosities

When sleep came, I fell for it. Down, down, head over heels, clawing at thin air, bicycling knees to try and tread the wind.

I landed softly but I didn't know it.

Ben holds on as long as he can but it's inevitable, expected. And then he is holding a shell, the vessel of the soul that has escaped to a makeshift dreamland through some attempt by God to atone for all of the things I have been through.

In my dream I am never too cold or too hot. I'm never hungry and I never covet anything. I am never afraid. Dreams come from heaven, I know that now. Or maybe they are designed to give us a taste of heaven in order to not be overwhelmed later in life, should we be given that reward.

Huh. I must tell this to Caleb when he comes back so he knows what he'll be missing.

In my dreams Ben never leaves and I never have to wake up until I have slept for days. Food arrives via the butler and everything we do is a whim. Music plays at the perfect volume, the perfect song audible but not overwhelming, my soundtrack following me down the road. Life is a circus. My own perfect circus, and that is my secret.

I open my bag and Coney Island is inside. So I put one foot in and then the other and I pull up the handles and in a singsong voice I say:

We're here.

I'm standing in front of the gates and the sun is just beginning to rise. It isn't cold here. The seagulls are competing with my song, goddammit, I'm going to have to speak to someone about that. I straighten the hem on my dress and tuck my hair behind my ears. Time to get to work.

I see Ben at the far end of the dock. He is watching the sea and waiting for me. Too far away to call to, and too far away to walk to, even and so I break into a run. I can't hear my footfalls but I can hear the metal clang of shutters as the boardwalk comes to life. Once the sun breaks free of the horizon it seems as it it calls out to everyone to shake off their own dreams and join us in this skewed reality where tolerance and cash are the only focus, and illusion is the means.

It's like the midway only less family-friendly and sometimes more sinister but I know I am safe. There is no dread. There's no 'careful' here. There are no places I need to be warned to avoid. I am no longer that fresh-scrubbed ruined twelve-year-old girl pulling cotton candy out of her hair and counting the seven twenty-dollar bills at the end of a good week. It's my dream and Caleb can't find me here.

This is the big leagues and I fit in only by virtue of pretty with not nearly enough tattoos and my rampant disregard for public appraisal unless it's of the appreciative kind. Ben fits in because he can make a scary face. That is all. He refuses to swallow fire and we've decided being sawed into pieces is overrated and agonizing.

Freaks. As is.

I reach him at last. His tattoos have been drawn into his pockets as he turns to smile at me.

You made it.

Why do I always start out at the opposite end from you?

I don't know, princess, but it doesn't take us long to regroup.

Weird.

Maybe that's part of the theme of your dream.

You're right. I bet that's exactly what it is.

Are you ready?

Yes. Let's go.

I reach up high into the air and grab the zipper pull, swinging my legs up over the edge until I am sitting on the ledge high above the pier now. The sun is a huge ball of warm, an orange I can taste, tinged with a purple I can feel. The tangible sunrise is a parting gift I am eager to learn how to extract, but not today.

I open my eyes and Ben is wrapped around me, sleeping deeply, his thumb resting on my philtrum and the rest of his hand wrapped around my head.

We are sleeping on a bed of twenty-dollar bills and all I can smell is cotton candy and decay.

Last night Ben and I sat outside in the freezing cold on the verandah, a candle burning on the rustic little table that I refused to paint and finally it has achieved the weathered grey I adore. His tea grew cold and my red wine grew warm as we ignored our drinks in favor of watching the wind and the moon, his hands clutching the blanket closed that we were sharing. I was tucked down in his arms, his chin on my head, his legs making for more warmth than I could have asked for around mine.

I was listening for Jacob's big windchimes but I can't hear them over the roar of the ocean. I hate to have to ask Ben to move them closer to the house again, because he's already done it twice, but I think I will. What is the point of a noise if it can't be heard?

Eventually I stopped trying to hear them and settled back against his chest and his head came forward beside mine, He kissed my cheek and pressed his ear against mine, rocking me slowly.

I closed my eyes.

Right.

Now.

This.

Clear as day he whispers in my ear. I hear him every single time.

I love you, Bridget.

I love you too, Ben. Forgive me.

Just let it be, little bee.

Which part?

All of it, for now. You're in my arms. I'm not going to think about anything else right now.

Yeah.

This is what I live for.

Me too.

He pulled back and looked down at me.

Really?

I nodded.

I thought you would have said something about my huge dick.

It was on the tip of my tongue.

You know, princess, there are so many places I could take that statement but for the sake of this beautiful night I'll just let it go.

Okay.

For now.

Yup.

But later, I-

Benjamin.

Yeah?

Shush.

Okay.

Confirmation bias.

(Firstly. If you don't understand polyandry, for the love of God, find another blog to read. I don't need any more emails telling me how fucking provocative I am.)

I went for a long bike ride with Lochlan last night. He got a new suit of body armor for his motorcycle and when he came down the hall fully suited up and carrying his helmet I had one of those moments where I'm just like wow. Just wow. It makes him look tall. Which he is anyway to me at 5'9" but this makes him look taller. All-black suit. It turned his hair to dark strawberry. He had it cut last week and all of his curls are gone.

We drove for hours, it seemed. We stopped in at the market and had fish and chips. Up the mountain. Up to the tinder-dry ski hills on the unsafe highway where one false move losing the edge of the road and you will plunge to your death straight down. We picked fights and took some pictures. Back down. Too fast.

We saw an owl. At once, the weirdest and the coolest thing ever.


We picked another fight and it resulted in Lochlan leaving me standing by the water and driving off. He was back five minutes later, parking his bike and striding over to me, grabbing my hand and pulling me back with him. I opted not to speak for the rest of the trip lest I get abandoned somewhere now that it was getting dark.

(Though, really it's been twenty years since he actually didn't come back for me. I have such fond memories of walking home in the middle of the night, back to the camper/cottage/house. Really I do.)

We arrived back home and I passed him my helmet and entered the house. It seemed so warm and inviting after being outside. Lights on everywhere.

Ben was sitting at the counter. Reading. He put his arms out and I flew into them as he stood up. Lochlan didn't say anything. I felt Ben nod and then he released me and turned me back to face Lochlan. Permission.

Let's sort this out, princess. I had no intentions of ruining this day.

Yeah.

I followed Lochlan upstairs. He shut the door behind me and locked it and then walked away down the hall. I followed. Another door, another lock. I'm amused. He's going to make it difficult for me to walk away from him now. That's funny because he's the one who always walks away. I stand my ground and fight.

Inside of this door he walks right over and kisses me. Hard. So hard I am forced back against the wall. Inside of a minute we are tearing at the layers of clothing keeping us apart. He is kissing my forehead. My cheeks. My lips. My shoulders.

I give him a shove backwards and he brings me with him, throwing me down onto the bed where he pulls the rest of my things off and then takes off everything too. He is flushed. Aroused. Gentler now. He pulls me up into his arms and we are cuddled in the center of his bed. He pulls the blanket up around me because everything in Lochlan's life is super heated and he lifts me up and brings me back down and I almost cry out but I bite his shoulder instead. He just holds me tighter. He is moving us, gently, quietly. That perfect dance. He leans me way back and follows and he is against me now, picking up speed, wrapping his arms tight around me, burying his face against the pillow, against my temple, his breath so loud in my ear. Our legs are tangled.

His hand moves to the back of my head and I am pressed against his chest as he raises himself up slightly. He won't make it hurt, he won't make it violent, ever but what he does do is make sure neither one of us is left wanting anything. His other hand is holding him up and I reach up and pull him back down to me. Slower now, forever now. The urgency has been dealt with, everything else remains. And the memories that keep us apart come crowding back in, extinguishing the moment.

(Just stay like this and everything is okay and tomorrow we will go and play at the beach and then at tent call we'll go work and then we'll steal dinner and maybe eat in bed. And then make love all night and sleep on the sand all day. Pretty please? And no fighting. I don't like it when we fight, Lochlan.)

He is slowing to a crawl now and the second-guess has commenced. His hands come up, cradling my head. His lips find mine. When we kiss our eyes are wide open.

My God, Bridget. I can't give you back to him.

It's a whisper and I have to ignore it. I know that. I have to pretend I didn't hear it and he will pretend he never said it. It's the other flaw in our beings. We can't get along and we can't be apart. I don't know what to do, this is the only answer I have.

I push him away and climb off his bed and brush past him to go to the shower. He reaches for me but I have already walked away from him.

In moments I am drowning myself under the hot spray. Not washing, just standing there. He joins me and begins to wash my hair. He washes my body, scrubs every inch of my skin, gets on his knees to wash the backs of my legs, my knees, my toes. He stands up and rinses me, holding me back under the stream. Holding me close. He puts his head down against mine and the water pours over us. We stay like this for a very long time. Finally he drops his arms from me and opens the door. I am pushed out and he closes the door again. He does not come out.

I dry myself quickly, put my clothes back on, and go back to plant a single kiss on the shower door. Lochlan is facing the wall now, his hands up above his head in a defeated stance. I know he has cranked the hot water up to the maximum now and the steam clouds are billowing out.

I turn on the switch for the fan and I close the door on my way out.

I don't hear him when he says I love you. I never do.

Saturday morning car tunes.

I'm not the only one who sees them
I'm not the only one they keep up at night
I'm not the only one not sleeping
I'm not the only one who's dreaming out loud
Dreaming out

Caleb was by this morning already, bringing fresh croissants and good news and his car! for me to use! He is leaving town for a couple of weeks, planning to return before school begins and more importantly, before Ruth's eleventh birthday.

Don't presume that my choice to keep him close has anything to do with Lochlan or Ben. This is not like that. This is a whole different thing and it could be called coercion or extortion or something but I like to just minimize that and make everybody happy and also it makes missing Cole less prevalent somehow in that he's right here, half the time.

(If I could get August to wear more flannel and spend less time tying his hair back I could have Jake too in some regard but whatever! Let's not go there! It's a beautiful Saturday and Ben is off for the weekend but having worked almost around the clock for the past twelve days straight somehow I see him sleeping all day long, possibly opening an eye around two or three o'clock to swallow a hamburger whole and going right back to sleep.)

I don't know why I'm explaining things to you anyway. Drama comes and drama goes and we keep it to a low simmer and we're incredibly refined. Trust me. In a perfectly-tousled hair and bright eyes kind of way. With money now. So our problems apparently are your reality television show.

Caleb is heading east to attend a few meetings in Toronto and then he'll stop in Montreal to see (ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHH) Sophie, and then he'll continue on to Nova Scotia to spend a week with his folks. I sent along my best from us even though I talk to them regularly. I was invited to go, seeing as how Pepper Potts may be making a return appearance and if anyone needs an assistant, it is Satan by far, but I declined because um, no. No trips with him. I don't what the fuck he is thinking. Yes, dear, stay in my life so we all don't go down in flames forever but no, I'm not going on vacations with you.

If push comes to shove I can make things miserable for him too. One of the small comforts of being tortured for so long by the same person is that eventually you discover the little things that drive them mad and you can use them as weapons. It keeps the devil at arms length. And it keeps Bridget safe.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go whisper disgusting things involving Krispy Kreme donuts into my husband's ear and maybe he'll get up and take me out for a second breakfast. He can drive.

In stitches here tonight
We are ripping the seams out
I'm pushing hard to tear it loose
In stitches here tonight
We are ripping the seams
There's something missing
Chilled and lonely in between

Today's musical accompaniment can be found here. Enjoy.